


Blue, pink, white, pink, blue.

by RedChucks



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Characters, Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans!Vince, Zooniverse flashback, mention of transphobic parents, set post-series, stationary village
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26855695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedChucks/pseuds/RedChucks
Summary: "Sometimes, okay most of the time, Vince appreciated how oblivious Howard was. The man lived in his own head almost exclusively, which allowed Vince to get away with an awful lot. He counted paper clips sure, but he could never Keep count. He could get so distracted by a pretty face at the shops that he could be easily convinced that there had never been an extra packet of Jaffa Cakes at all and Howard definitely needed to buy more. That was a great asset in a friend and Vince openly exploited it, mostly for snacks. It would be sacrilege not to."Vince has things he wants Howard to see, and to understand, but fears that Howard is just too dense and stuck in his own head to ever figure things out. Howard, for his part, has been hard at work, sorting through things in his own way.A story of being trans, growing up, finding your pride, and Stationary Village.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	Blue, pink, white, pink, blue.

Sometimes, okay most of the time, Vince appreciated how oblivious Howard was. The man lived in his own head almost exclusively, which allowed Vince to get away with an awful lot. He counted paper clips sure, but he could never Keep count. He could get so distracted by a pretty face at the shops that he could be easily convinced that there had never been an extra packet of Jaffa Cakes at all and Howard definitely needed to buy more. That was a great asset in a friend and Vince openly exploited it, mostly for snacks. It would be sacrilege not to.

Naboo said that Howard suffered from several disorders including maladaptive daydreaming and it wasn’t good for him, but Vince thought that was a bit rich coming from a shaman who was constantly stoned and lived off pot noodles. They all had their ways of coping with the weird life they’d been dealt and Vince liked to think he didn’t judge (much). Howard lived in his own jazzy daydream, Naboo kept himself as high as a turban-topped kite, and Bollo, well... Vince wasn’t one hundred per cent sure what Bollo got up to these days but whatever it was, it beat the poop throwing he used to engage in back at the zoo.

Vince was aware that he had his own quirks and failings. A lot of them. Howard liked to call him out for his Narcissus impression but Vince didn’t really mind that. He had far worse character flaws than his obsession with his own reflection. He’d worked hard for the body he saw in the mirror, his vanity was well earned. Only he wasn’t sure whether he was happy anymore that Howard never bothered to look at that reflection and realise how it had changed over the years. He didn’t want Howard to be oblivious to the man Vince had become. He wanted Howard to appreciate the effort he had put in, to appreciate the aesthetic, the allure. He wanted Howard to want him! But Howard was stubbornly oblivious and Vince didn’t know how to make him see. 

He still thought of Vince as the fifteen-year-old boy, padded with baby fat, hips already too wide for comfort, who’d shown up at the zoo one day and had decided never to leave. Except that he had, when Howard did - following along after the first friend who had ever seen him for who he was - who he wanted to be. It was ironic, that Howard had been the one to first really see Vince, yet never really Saw. 

Vince frowned. Thinking made his head hurt and he did Not need that. Right then he needed to concentrate on testing out the Nabootique’s new line of enchanted hair straighteners. His hair was now a wave of black silk that would make Morticia Addams proud. It was a world away from the look he’d sported back before the zoo times and he frowned when he realised where his mind had drifted again.

Vince had worked so hard back in those days, to be seen as a boy. His mum had been dead set against him cutting his hair, his dad had taken any talk of gender as a cue to start punching, and his school had been zero help. In fact, they had been minus help. They’d forced him to use the wrong bathroom and attend the girls sex ed classes, even though it had made him feel sick, and had refused to even call him by his name. 

Everyone in Vince’s world saw him as a girl, and he’d walked a fine line between what was considered acceptable and what felt comfortable. It had been a hard set of lessons to learn and Vince had never been one for studying. Discovering Bowie had helped; Vince was good at learning when it came to music, and fashion was a subject he took to like a spoon to soup once he saw what was possible. David Bowie was fashion and Vince became a willing pupil. Bowie liked make-up and wore dresses one day and suits another. Bowie made androgyny look cool which allowed Vince to sport a similar look. His mum had been thrilled off her tits the first time Vince had emerged from his bedroom wearing eye liner and lip gloss. She’d even paid for his blonde streaks, and had carried on for days about how relieved she was that Vince had out grown his desire to cut his hair. 

Vince had still played football though, and even if his longer hairstyle grew on him (pun intended), it didn’t mean he’d changed his mind about who he was. He was Vince Noir, he was a boy, and he was fabulous. He was also very bad at keeping his mouth shut. He told the truth without meaning to. It was one trait that hadn’t changed over the years. It almost always led to being captured by some sort of monster or accidentally summoning a demon or very nearly admitting to Howard that he’d been lusting for him for more than half his life. That thought made Vince grin despite himself. Some things really hadn’t changed over the years, he thought, turning off his straighteners and flicking his hair, changing the angle of his hips a few times as he checked himself out in the mirror. Damn, he looked good.

His cheeky display for himself came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of Howard in the mirror’s reflection. He was bent over a display table in the corner, eyes intense and brooding, bristles twitching, as he worked at reconstructing Stationary Village yet again. Some things hadn’t changed over the years but some things definitely had; Howard had a proper moustache for one thing. His shoulders were broader as well and he was far less twitchy, less angry. More worn down, perhaps, but in a handsome, world weary, shambolic mess, kind of way.

Vince jumped when Howard suddenly looked up, meeting his gaze in the mirror. There was a funny look in Howard’s tiny eyes - something questioning, like concern - and Vince turned away quickly. He’d seen that look on Howard’s face before. Too many times. Like on the day they met. Howard had looked like a god and Vince had looked... he shuddered and let the warped, memory sequence, camera shift thingumy do the work for him, transporting him back to the zoo with a sweep of harp music - back to that fateful day. He closed his eyes and watched the scene he knew by heart, down to the smell of the animal dung and distant, irritating, screaming of Bob Fossil. Vince was crying. His face hurt, his chest was killing him beneath the layers he’d wrapped too tightly around it, and he’d actually whimpered when a large shadow had suddenly loomed over him.

“Hey now! Are you alright there, little missy?” The voice was soft and gentle, but it was also deep, and Vince could sense the size of the man standing over him as he curled in on himself. His face hurt so much and he really didn’t want to make it worse, but his emotions were running too high and the stranger was still talking, calling him ‘miss’ and ‘missy’ and hovering over him in a way that Vince simply couldn’t take anymore. So when an overly large hand came to rest a hand on his shoulder Vince snapped and turned with a snarl, baring his teeth with a bravado that he definitely didn’t feel, but satisfied that he was at least able to make the man remove his hand.

Trying to see who was actually threatening him, and where his easiest exits might be, Vince glared up at the stranger above him with enough violence that the tall stranger threw his hands up and took a hurried step back. Vince had never had anyone do that before - look at him like he was a genuine threat and needed to be respected - and it was hard to keep his snarl in place. It was especially satisfying to see the man blink rapidly and begin to blush as he looked at Vince. He didn’t seem like too much of a threat once his feet started shuffling and his messy curls fell in his face and so Vince attempted to stand, only for a sharp pain in his side to cause him to cry out and crumple back over.

“Woah there! Are you okay?” Vince sent another glare in the man’s direction but couldn’t summon any sort of response beyond a shame-filled shake of his head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to scare you. I know I can be pretty intimidating. Haha!” The man was hovering again but Vince was in no mood to soothe his ego, not right now, not when he’d called him That. The scarecrow-looking man approached more carefully the second time ‘round, hands out in front of him like he was approaching a half wild animal, and Vince felt his lip curl up in a snarl again in response. “Let me try this again,” the tall stranger said in a more soothing voice. “Are you alright, little... man?”

Vince looked up, wide eyed, mouth hanging open like a gulper eel, frozen in shock, and then immediately fell in to the man’s arms, a crying, snot and blood covered mess, unable to form words, barely able to breathe, as he clung to the man who he didn’t even know yet had paid him the greatest compliment of his life! He normally had to work his ass off to be considered halfway a boy, and this random zoo weirdo had just called him a man! It was too much, especially after the day he’d had.

“No- ok. No- I’m... M- da-” he sniffled miserably, trying and failing to talk properly through the pain that bloomed out through his face. “He bro- my... broke m-“

He didn’t get any further than that. It was as plain as the broken mess across his face that had once been a nose and the aghast looking zoo keeper who’s lap he’d found himself in patted him with awkward care. “There there,” he muttered stiffly. “That must have been... I mean... I guess that smarts.”

Vince wanted to laugh, but even puffing a breath through his nose hurt too much so he settled for a smile under the cover of his hair. How was it that this man, who had spoken in the creamiest voice Vince had ever heard when he believed Vince to be some sort of unknown zoo creature, was suddenly stiff and strangled when faced with basic human emotion. Glancing up through his fringe, Vince took a moment to check the other man out whilst his brown eyes were darting manically, looking at anything but Vince. He gave off a vibe of being uncomfortable in his skin, And his clothes, and Vince understood that feeling well enough. The guy had the look of someone who’d been dragged backwards through an angry hedge. He matched that with a dorky moustache that didn’t suit his face, hair that would probably look really good if he actually took care of it, and killer cheekbones beneath his tiny, shifty eyes. His clothes were rumpled and the sleeves were too short, and his shoes were the uglies things to have ever existed. 

Vince liked him immediately. 

Focusing on the man who was now patting his back like he was a cat settled Vince’s tears surprisingly quickly. He sat up, disappointed but not surprised when the man moved back, out of his space, and covered whatever dumb expression was probably on his face by pressing his wad of bloody napkins back to his nose. It still hurt like a mutha-bitch but he didn’t want to think about that anymore. He felt like he’d fallen in to a fantasy world, where everything was bright and colourful and slightly unreal-looking, where strangers looked in his face and saw the man he really was without him having to beg or explain. It was like a dream, and he never wanted to leave.

“So,” he said eventually. “D’you like David Bowie?” Those words were something of a reflex, something he said to anyone who he ended up in conversation with. It helped him figure out which folks were safe and which weren’t without it being too weird. He desperately hoped that this guy responded in the right way. 

“He...” the man stopped to think. “He is certainly a musical innovator. I may be partial to the Thin White Duke.”

“Really! I like Ziggy!” Vince answered too fast, worried that he might be coming on a bit strong but unable to stop himself. There weren’t many people who actually deigned to talk to him most days. But this man just let out a soft chuckle, his eyes running over Vince’s hand-painted denim jacket before they darted up to his face. Vince noticed the wince and felt his cheeks burn even more than they already were. The sudden urge to run and hide made him think that he really might be some sort of wild creature and he could feel his heart punching against his rib cage, begging him to flee. Instead he tried to be brave, lowering his voice like he’d practiced, and trying to look as ‘not bothered’ as he could. There was nowhere left to run to anyway. “So, how bad’s the damage then? My face irreparably ruined?”

Vince wasn’t sure what he’d expected but the sad, hound dog, eyes weren’t it. Maybe his nose was worse than he thought. He tried to give a cocky grin but gave it up quickly when it made the pain in his face explode all over again. The pain that hit his heart a moment later when the scarecrow man in front of him spoke again was worse by far.

“I’m so sorry someone hurt you.” He looked up through his matted curls and Vince immediately wanted to run his fingers through and detangle them, to push the untidy strands away from those small, intense, chocolate eyes. Instead he just twisted his bloody napkins in his hands to keep them occupied and drank in the sight of this odd human being who looked so uncomfortable, yet was making such an effort. “I’m sorry that-” the man continued. “I’m sorry that your dad... I’m sorry that you got... I mean... Parents! Am I right? Haha!” 

Vince nodded, sniffed, then winced at the throbbing pain in his face. This guy got it, even if he couldn’t exactly put words to it, and was so awkward Vince wondered how he’d even made it to grown-up-hood. He’d stand no chance against Vince’s dad, who used his fists to win any and every argument, even against his own children. This guy looked like a single punch would send him skittering away, like a too-long Tesco’s receipt caught on a brisk breeze, blowing down a dirty street. Vince knew his dad would call it pathetic but it only made Vince like the strange man more. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Parents.”

The man blinked at him several times whilst his mouth stayed tight shut beneath his twitching moustache and Vince wondered if it were some sort of code, but eventually he spoke again, much to Vince’s relief. His voice turning creamy, smooth enough to make Vince almost forget about how much his nose and ribs hurt.

“Well, I guess we better get you cleaned up, eh? Little Man? I’ll bring you to Naboo, he’s our resident shaman and official first aid officer, as well as curator of the Zooniverse kiosk. He’ll know what to do.” He smiled, and even if it looked a little forced and creepy, Vince appreciated the sentiment. “I’m Howard, by the way. Howard Moon. And you, Little Man? You are...”

Vince beamed. He’d never had the opportunity to introduce himself properly before.

“I’m Vince! Vince Noir! Cheers for helping me out, Howard.” 

“Pleased to meet you, Vince,” Howard chuckled. “And it’s no problem at all. I am of course a hugely important figure here at the zoo, it can’t be denied, but the welfare of the zoo’s patrons is a top priority. It would be hugely remiss of me to neglect your well-being and comfort.”

Vince grinned wide. “I only understood, like, three of the words you just used then. You must be well smart.” He watched as Howard smiled back, a bit of a strut entering his step. Vince had never felt so euphoric in his life.

Feeling the flash-back scene fade away, the Vince of now slouched back and hugged his arms around his chest, pouting at the mirror. It was one of his favourite memories, one of the few true memories that he indulged in, but for some reason it wasn’t cheering him up like it usually did. The fact that Howard had taken him at face value, had accepted his gender and his name, and his shitty family situation, had been near overwhelming. It had been wonderful. But there had been fear too - the anticipation of Howard finding out the truth - a fear that Vince had been living with for nearly fifteen years. He wanted Howard to see him, to see all of him, but Howard’s brain was complicated and he only saw what he decided he wanted to. 

Even when he’d taken a week off work to have his tits cut off Howard hadn’t made the connection. As far as Howard was concerned, Vince was a man - a little man, obviously - but a man, and having a procedure to have his chest flattened just proved Vince was a bit vain, after all, Howard wasn’t going to such an extent to get rid of his own ‘gynecomastia’. He was just increasing his jazzercise regime to include more saxophone lifts. Vince had tried to explain that it wasn’t the same thing, he really had tried, but Howard hadn’t grasped the concept and Vince hadn’t had the vocabulary at the time to explain. It had seemed hopeless. Most of the time it still seemed so.

Some things had changed though. Since Howard’s birthday and the whole, “I’m a massive gayist!” situation, Howard had been toying with the label of bisexual. Vince had spent the last seven years getting comfortable with the feminine side of himself, with being seen as androgynous, and while he still felt most definitely male, he liked being a bit gender fluid with his appearance, carrying on Bowie’s legacy. He liked the attention it got him, the adulation. Not that Howard ever seemed to notice.

Vince wasn’t even sure why he wanted to reveal his secret so badly. He didn’t wan’t Howard to start seeing him differently, not really. He liked that Howard had always seen him as Vince, as his ‘Little Man’, and not as the... other. It was supposed to be a point of pride, wasn’t it, to be able to pass? He had worked so hard for it, had loved being able to pass. So why did he want to reveal it now? Was it just because he wanted to get Howard naked and didn’t want him to freak out when Vince did the same? Was he really that vain?

Tutting at his own over-thinking, Vince turned away from the mirror, facing Howard instead, who was still frowning over his precious stationary. He needed to say something. He really did. But words were rubbish.

“Vince, could I get your expert opinion on something here?” Howard suddenly asked, and Vince tried to cover the fact that he’d almost jumped out of his skin by striking a pose and giving Howard a sharp look. Howard had never once asked for his opinion on his Stationary Village. He was immediately suspicious.

“You want my help? Mine?” He grinned, despite himself at how ludicrous it was. “Are you having a break down? You been sniffing a Sharpie/craft glue cocktail?”

He watched Howard roll his tiny eyes and, pointedly, not look up. Instead he smiled - that mischievous, wolfish grin that had been so central in maintaining Vince’s crush on him for over a dozen years - and Vince found himself moving forward almost against his own will, reeled in by Howard’s sharp profile and that grin. That damned grin. Vince knew resisting was a lost cause, he always gave in to Howard eventually, always came when called, always played the part of loving wife, but with a cock. That was something he’d heard whispered at a Shaman house party once, that he was: “Howard’s little wife but like, with a big wang”. He’d decided to take it as a compliment. It was the purpose of skinny jeans after all. He couldn’t always pass, especially with how long his hair was these days, and his current obsession with flavoured lip gloss, but his packer in his skin tight jeans was impossible to ignore, and he liked that people noticed. He knew Howard had noticed more than once, he’d seen him staring, all shifty eyed when he thought Vince wasn’t looking. And while it gave him a bit of a thrill, to know he was being checked out by the one person in the world who he (desperately) wanted , he was starting to think it really was behind his desire for Howard to see the whole of him, to know that he was trans... If he and Howard ever got to the point of losing their pants together he didn’t want Howard freaking out just because Vince’s penis was the detachable kind.

The Camden elite thought his downstairs mixup was chill, for the most part, and Vince was aware that several of the offers he got each Saturday night were from people seeking cool cred. He never took them up on their kind offers obviously. He was in to kissing, kissing was genius, but wasn’t interested in losing his clothes for just anyone. The only person he actually wanted to get naked with was the one person in the world who apparently had absolutely no interest in knowing what he had going on under his jumpsuit. IT was beyond frustrating.

Vince didn’t like this sort of complicated emotional soup. It made his stomach turn. But he also didn’t like the idea of Howard thinking that he’d won, and the look on his face right then made it clear that Howard thought he had won something. Well, Vince wasn’t going to let the man think that he could be intimidated by a bunch of stupid stationary.

“Alright then,” he said with a mock sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”

He tried to strut confidently toward the back of the shop, moving in a way that would make Bowie or Jagger proud, but it was hard when Howard was still smiling like he’d created something... Vince didn’t even know what would make Howard smile like that. Until he reached Howard’s chair and nerdy little desk, where Stationary Village seemed to be having some sort of parade. Or, more specifically, where a set of rainbow glitter pens were having a parade.

“Well?” Howard beamed up at him, practically glowing as he looked up with that hopeful, ‘tell-me-I’m-a-good-boy’, look that made Vince just clench with want. “What do you think?”

“Howard,” Vince gasped softly, trying to understand what he was seeing. “Is this...?” It couldn’t be real, couldn’t be what it looked like, couldn’t be... “A Pride parade?”

Howard’s smile grew wider, his eyes disappearing completely, like chocolate chips disappearing in rising, buttery, cookie dough. It made Vince hungry but he knew that, even if there was a cookie just lying around that he could get his hands on, the butterflies in his stomach wouldn’t be keen on letting him eat. Besides which, Howard had started talking again, and Vince didn’t want to miss any of what he was saying because he was distracted by the thought of sweets.

“Well, it’s supposed to be,” Howard blushed, looking back down at his creation before shooting Vince another pleased-as-punch grin. “I’ve got the rainbow pens, the lavender and violet scented letter set ladies,” Vince watched the blush deepen and spread across Howard’s cheeks, confused for a moment before he realised that Howard was trying to give a subtle nod towards lesbians - which was such a Howard thing to do that it made Vince want to hug the giant idiot. “And I’ve got the blue, purple, and pink eraser set for our bisexuality.” Here Howard looked incredibly proud and Vince could feel the emotion mirrored in his own heart. It hadn’t been easy for either of them to admit to their sexuality, neither had announced it properly, had only mumbled about swinging both ways whilst not making eye contact, like proper, uptight, British men, so it was an impressive thing for Howard to say it so confidently now. 

“This is genius, Howard,” he enthused, genuinely impressed, and surprised at how excited he was to be looking at stationary. “Seriously, It’s really awesome. It’s all here. You don’t even need my opinion on this. It’s genius!”

“Well, thank you for your kind words, sir,” Howard preened before his face settled in to a more serious countenance. “But it’s not all there. Not yet. I wanted to add another group only I couldn’t remember the order of the colours and I figure, well, you’re the expert.”

Vince’s eyes widened. This couldn’t be going where he thought it was going could it? Surely not. “And what’s that?” he whispered, trying to sound non-plussed and aware that he was failing really well.

“The Trans flag, Vince,” Howard blinked, holding up several miniature rulers in different colours. “I want to make one to mark the end of the parade, alongside these rainbow pencil toppers, but I, uh, couldn’t recall the order.” Vince narrowed his eyes, searching for any sign that he was being teased or set up. He knew how gullible he could be, how easy to manipulate and lie to he was, but there was nothing malicious in Howard’s face. If anything he was looking at Vince clearly, like he could really see him. It made Vince want to run screaming, his brain howling and clamouring to escape the scrutiny. Until his eye caught Howard’s and his brain went blank. “Vince?” Howard asked, genuine concern creeping in to his voice. “Uh, Vince?”

“Hmm?” Vince hummed. “What?”

“The colours, Vince,” Howard urged gently, his voice deep and creamy. “Is it pink, blue, white, blue, pink? Or blue, pink, white, pink, blue?”

“Blue, pink, white, pink, blue,” Vince said automatically. He was good with colours and patterns.

“Oh, of course,” Howard smiled brightly, arranging his little coloured rulers in the correct order. “Just like on the pants you wore during our last satsuma battle, haha!” 

Vince jumped. “What? You noticed those?” He’d honestly hoped Howard might, that it might be an easy opener for the conversation that he wanted to have, but it just hadn’t come up, and once the satsumas started flying they’d both been too busy having fun to have a serious chat. “Wait? You KNOW?!”

Howard jumped at Vince’s sudden volume but it couldn’t be helped. The howling was back in Vince’s head, a mixture of panic and joy and absolute terror. He stared at the Stationary Village Pride parade, internally screaming behind wide eyes.

“Know what?” Howard asked, voice equally shrill, if not quite so loud.

Meanwhile the screaming in Vince’s brain went from a normal level of, ‘llama on the loose in the gift shop, what the mother tweaker! Help!’ to a, ‘stuck in a helicopter piloted by Bob Fossil wearing double eye patches, being attacked by a rabid bat! Mayday! Mayday! Help! Help! AHHHHH!’ level of internal panic.

“THAT I’M TRANS!”

“Oh,” was all Howard said and Vince felt himself deflate, like he really was a beach ball and had suffered a fatal puncture. “Were we keeping that a secret?”

Vince gaped. “Well...” Vince stammered. “Um... no?”

Howard stood, stepping in to Vince’s space, hovering like he wanted to give him a hug. He didn’t of course, because he was Howard, but Vince understood the gesture for what it was, and appreciated it. He hugged himself instead, careful not to cross his arms too tightly over his chest, still sensitive, even years later, about any appearance of cleavage. Tits weren’t allowed; tits weren’t funny. 

“Vince,” Howard tried again, adopting the voice he had used back in the zoo, when dealing with an animal in genuine distress. Oh, by Bowie! Vince had missed that voice. “Hey now. It’s okay, Little Man. Slow that breathing down a tempo or two. It’s okay.” 

Vince focused on the Howard’s voice and hands as he calmed himself. Watching Howard’s hands was always a great way to relax; he moved them like music, like his fingers were playing an invisible harp, or conducting an orchestra. Not that Vince knew a lot about orchestras or conductors generally, but he knew a whole lot about Howard’s hands. Vince’s hands were small and stubby, Howard’s were long and graceful and strong. Vince could watch Howard’s hands all day - if it wouldn’t come off as creepy and stalkerish. Howard got enough lusty attention from monsters, Vince didn’t want to be among them. 

“Howard, I...” Vince attempted, but stopped when he realised that he didn’t know what to say next. 

“You know, I found a really nifty bookstore recently,” Howard said after a beat of silence. “They have two originals of Proust’s masterpiece, ‘À la recherche du temps perdu’. Two! And several copies of the new ‘Le Mystérieux Correspondant’! It’s the most wonderful place, Vince, honestly and-”

“Howard!” Vince whined. They were getting off track and he knew that once they lost the thread of their original conversation they might never get back to it. He couldn’t bear to let that happen. Not now. “I don’t know if this is supposed to be some sort of long winded metaphor of something but if it is, can we please make it about fashion? I can’t follow complicated stories like you can. Even the pencil case story got me all turned ‘round the first few times. I just wanted you to know I’m, ya know, trans - a trans man - not that I’m some sort of genius the reads books. I don’t know what a Proust is, I don’t really want to talk about libraries, I just...”

He felt stupid and small under Howard’s gaze. It wasn’t a new feeling, and far from a pleasant one, but somehow it seemed to hurt more now. He’d made himself completely vulnerable to Howard, only to be faced with his own intellectual inadequacy and a lecture about antique French books. But Howard took pity on him after a moment of puppy-eyed confusion.

“No, no, no, Vince,” he said with frantic waving of his hands, distracting Vince all over again with his long, beautiful fingers. “It’s... I mean... It’s a queer bookshop! An LGBTQ+ bookshop! Proust was a gay writer in the nineteenth century! I- I... I bought some books. They helped at lot. I...” with a deep sigh Howard relaxed his shoulders and glanced at Vince from beneath his unbrushed curls. “When we first met I didn’t have the confidence, or vocabulary, to talk to you. I was too insecure about my own, you know, leanings. I’m still too...” ... too awkward. Vince could practically hear the words that were left unspoken. No matter how much they’d grown, and matured, and learnt, during a decade and a half’s worth of adventures and misadventures and monsters, they would never not be awkward about certain things. Things like, for instance affection, attraction, and sex. “But I’ve done a lot of reading recently,” Howard powered on. And it’s helped. And the folk that run the shop are really very friendly. And they sell things other than books. They sell lattes and little cakes, and, and, and, and... and clothes! I think you’ll like it. I’ve learnt a lot. And I want to be a good bisexual. And a good trans ally. I’m sorry I never said anything before now.”

Vince felt overwhelmed, like he’d been punched in the nose all over again, only this time he’d been punched by emotions rather than his dad’s fist, and it hurt in a new, and entirely unexpected way. Howard saw him, really saw him - and he wasn’t afraid of what he saw. Howard had seen him and instead of running for the hills (which were full of yetis anyway and not at all safe) he’d done research on Vince’s gender identity and had made an effort to show him that he cared. Vince needed to say something, needed to thank him, but he wasn’t sure how.

“Howard, I...” he swallowed, shocked at how deep and husky his own voice sounded in that moment. As a child he’d never dreamed his voice could sound like this. And he might never have been brave enough to do it if Howard hadn’t accepted him so readily. “I think I love you, Howard.”

There wasn’t time to be embarrassed, or to even think about what he’d actually just said aloud, because suddenly Howard was kissing him, cupping his face in those magnificent hands and tickling under his nose with his ridiculous moustache. And it was so much better than the last time they’d kissed, when Howard had been the one caught by surprise. Vince had been scared of going too far, of molesting his friend in pursuit of saving his head, and Howard had sat there like a confused moose, hairy lipped and hot breathed and confused. But this time... this time Howard was giving it his all, kissing Vince like he’d studied it at an undergraduate level. Knowing Howard, he probably had, at that fancy bookstore. Vince couldn’t wait to go there and see the new, trendy, little space that Howard had discovered for them both. 

When Howard’s lips nipped against Vince’s lower one he gave up on thinking and kissed back in earnest, giving Howard his all, wanting to show him that there were things that he knew which couldn’t be learned in books, things which were known through feelings. When he managed to make Howard moan, he felt like a god, like he had finally succeeded at something. It made him ache, deep down in his gut, and he placed his hands carefully on Howard’s upper arms, not wanting to spook him, but desperate to feel more of the man he had wanted for so long. 

The high, breathy, moan that escaped from between Howard’s lips at the intimate contact sent a tingling through Vince’s lips where their breath collided, and he growled in response, a possessive, animal, sound that made Howard lean in to him, surrendering to him. It felt so good, so right, and when he felt his hips begin to move, his groin thrusting against Howard’s thigh, that feeling of rightness just got stronger.

“Thank you,” Howard whispered between the kisses and the bites and nips that Vince was peppering his lips with. “Thank you. I love you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Love you,” he gasped, babbling about the gift of love, Vince’s gift, Vince’s love, until Vince thrust his tongue in to Howard’s mouth to silence him. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Howard telling him that his feelings were reciprocated, he loved it, but he knew how carried away Howard could get if allowed to run his mouth off, and Vince had a better use for Howard’s mouth.

The two stayed locked in a passionate embrace even as Naboo and Bollo looked in through the side door, on their way down the stairs from the apartment. Bollo shook his head and took a hard sniff of the mysterious bottle that he’d taken to carrying with him. Earth uppers and drugs in general didn’t do much for him anymore but even the best Xooberon snuff wasn’t quite enough to numb his mind against this. Vince was a precious flower. Howard was a ball bag. It didn’t make sense. He shook his head and made a rude gesture, safe in the knowledge that Howard wouldn’t notice - the stupid human didn’t notice anything when Vince was around. He was oblivious to the world as soon as Vince entered the room, and Bollo dreaded to think how fuzzy brained the fool would get now that the two men had started swapping spit. 

“‘S about time those two got together,” Naboo said with an authoritative nod and he turned to head out of the side door and away from what was quickly becoming a Not Safe For Work scene in the middle of their actual work place. “Vince can finally try out that enchanted strap-on I gave him for Christmas the other year. I dunno why he was so weird about it. It’s infused with owl beaks. They’re both in for a treat.”

“Disgusting. Bollo going to be sick,” Bollo grunted, shaking his head, both at the two men making out like bonobo’s in heat, and at the grin on Naboo’s blissed out face. Perhaps Naboo’s stash had spoiled somehow, giving him a bad trip and making him smile at the nauseating display of tongues that was happening in the middle of the Nabootique. Bollo frowned but Naboo’s smirk just spread wider.

“Agreed. It’s going to get well disgusting,” Naboo lisped softly beside him, and Bollo grunted in agreement. “I knew giving Vince testosterone all these years would eventually lead to something like this. Howard’s in for the bumming of his life. We’d best crash at Kirk’s place tonight. I definitely don’t want to walk in on whatever these two are going to get up to. With this much pent up sexual tension, things could get really kinky really quickly.”

Bollo only grunted in response, already heading out the door and trying to block the idea of Howard and Vince bumming from his mind. Naboo pointed his finger first at the sign on the shop door, flipping it to shut, and then at the shutters over the windows, effectively closing the Nabootique early and saving the public from whatever Vince had in mind for the hapless, whining man in his arms. All in all this was a very good thing. Vince deserved all the happiness life could throw at him - Naboo had healed his nose and ribs and knew more of the man’s upbringing than just about anyone - and Howard? Well, Howard was still a bit of a muppet but he was good for Vince, and deserved a good bumming.

At that thought Naboo’s smug grin slipped a little, dampening his high. Maybe they should make it a couple of nights at Kirk’s place instead of just the one. Two horny virgins and an enchanted strap-on... anything could happen, and Naboo didn’t want to be around for that clean up.


End file.
